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Decorated by 
Emily Hall Chamberlain 



The Bobbs- Merrill Company 
publishers 



Copyright 1887, 1888, 1893, 1899, 1903. 

1910, 1911, 1913, 1914 

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 



SEP to 1914 

CI.A379455 




WHEN SHE 
COMES HOME 

HEN she 
comes home 
again ! 
A thousand ways 

I fashion, to myself, 

the tenderness 







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Of my glad welcome : 
I shall tremble — yes ; 

And touch her, as 
when first in the 
old days 




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touched her girlish 
hand, nor dared 

upraise 

Mine eyes, such 
was my faint heart's 
sweet distress. 







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Cloy eyesight — 
soul -sight, even 
— for a space; 



And tears — yes; 
and the ache here 
in the throat. 



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'^'Mi. 



HER BEAUTIFUL 
HANDS 




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YOUK 

HANDS- 

they are strangely fair ! 

Fair — for the jewels 
that sparkle there, — 

Fair — for the 

witchery of the spell 





That ivory keys 

alone can tell ; 

But when their 
delicate touches rest 

Here in my own 
do 1 love them best. 

As I clasp with eager, 
acquisitive spans 

My glorious treasure 
of beautiful hands ! 




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Marvelous — 
wonderful — 

beautiful hands! 

They can coax 
roses to bloom 

in the strands 

Of your brown 
tresses; and ribbons 
will twine, 

Under mysterious 

touches of thine, 






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Into such knots as 

entangle the soul 

And fetter the 
heart under such 

a control 

As only the 
strength of my 
love understands — 

My passionate 
love for your 

beautiful hands. 




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As I remember 

the first fair touch 

Of those beautiful 
hands that I love 
so much, 
I seem to thrill as I 
then \A/as thrilled. 

Kissing the glove that 
I found unfilled — 

When 1 met 
your gaze, and 
the queenly bow. 






As you said to me, 

laughingly, ''Keep 

it noNA/T' . . . 

And dazed and alone 

in a dream 1 stand. 

Kissing this ghost of 

your beautiful hand. 

NA/hen first 1 loved, 

in the long ago. 
And held your hand 

as I told you so — 
Pressed and caressed 
it and gave it a kiss 



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And said 'i could die 
for a hand like this !" 

Little 1 dreamed 

love's fullness yet 

Had to ripen when 

eyes were wet 

And prayers 

were vain in their 
wild demands 
For one warm 
touch of your 

beautiful hands. 












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WERT 
OOKSiNDlNG 

Cfantvill*. P<i 
iept— Oc( 1985 




